


Pity

by JuliaJekyll



Series: Good Omens One Shots [15]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst and Feels, Aziraphale is "just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing" (Good Omens), Aziraphale is Not Oblivious (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley First Kiss (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley is Whipped (Good Omens), Desire, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Drinking & Talking, Ejaculate, Language, M/M, Masturbation, Pining, Pre-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), Unresolved Romantic Tension, Voice Kink, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:49:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24464476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JuliaJekyll/pseuds/JuliaJekyll
Summary: “Say you’re right,” he said, holding Aziraphale’s gaze. “Say ‘s all true, there’s nothing we can do. Nothing anyone can do. Say the world’s as good as gone, and that’s it.” He swallowed, licked his lips with a parched tongue. “What would you wish you’d done?”Aziraphale blinked, looking uncertain. “I’ve still got time to do whatever I haven’t done. You said eleven years!”“Say it was ending tomorrow,” Crowley said impatiently.Aziraphale thought for a moment. “Well,” he said, more seriously. “I suppose there’re books I’d regret not having read.”Crowley shifted closer. “Me,” he said, “Me, I’d regret that I never kissed you.”Aziraphale and Crowley both want each other, but how close can they actually get?
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Good Omens One Shots [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1544350
Comments: 19
Kudos: 109





	Pity

**Author's Note:**

> Fair warning: this turned out a little darker than my usual stuff. Might hurt a little!

“But what d’you think’ll happen _first_?” Aziraphale slurred, nearly missing the desk as he went to set his wineglass down. “You’ve read the Bible, yeah? I mean, have you read the Bible? Should think you have; you’re in it, after all.”

“’S that supposed to mean?” Crowley interjected, glaring at his own glass until it refilled itself. “You saying I’m vain? You think ‘m a vain bastard, don’t you? ‘S what you think of me?”

“A bit vain, yes,” Aziraphale said, then continued his previous line of questioning before Crowley could protest again: “But what I mean is, there’s loads of signs. Loads of, what d’you call ‘em, _patents.”_

“No. ‘S wrong word. You mean _portents._ ”

“Right. Of course. Anyway, there’s loads of those. The Four Horsemen, the earthquakes, the moon turning red…all that stuff. But what d’you reckon the humans will notice first? What d’you think they’ll report?”

“Nothing, hopefully,” Crowley said. “Told you, angel, I’ve’n _idea_. To stop it.”

“But it’s been _written,_ Crowley,” Aziraphale said, pouring himself another glass. “’S in the Bible.”

“So you’ve said.” Crowley threw back his drink. “But we don’ have to jus’, jus’ lay down n’ _take_ it. We haven’t gotta…what’sss the word…summit? Sublet?”

“Submit?”

“Yes, that. We’ve not got to do that, angel. We’ve got to…we’ve got to _not_ do that. We’ve gotta _try.”_ He sat up, a feral gleam in his eyes. “If we don’t try; if _you_ don’t try an’ stop it, you’re gonna regret it. I know you will.” He stared at the angel intently, fingers knocking out a disjointed rhythm on the side of his empty glass. “’S matter of fact, I bet that’s not the only thing you’d regret.”

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow but didn’t reply.

Crowley got gingerly to his feet and snapped his fingers. A second chair appeared beside Aziraphale’s, covered in black suede.

Aziraphale blinked at the new bit of furniture as Crowley abandoned his wineglass and crossed the room to lower himself onto it, kneeling so that he was face-to-face with Aziraphale. He cleared his throat. “Say you’re right,” he said, holding Aziraphale’s gaze. “Say ‘s all true, there’s nothing we can do. Nothing anyone can do. Say the world’s as good as gone, and that’s it.” He swallowed, licked his lips with a parched tongue. “What would you wish you’d done?”

Aziraphale blinked, looking uncertain. “I’ve still got time to do whatever I haven’t done. You said eleven years!” 

“Say it was ending tomorrow,” Crowley said impatiently.

Aziraphale thought for a moment. “Well,” he said, more seriously. “I suppose there’re books I’d regret not having read.”

Crowley shifted closer. “Me,” he said, “Me, I’d regret that I never kissed you.”

Aziraphale’s expression barely changed, but Crowley could see a flash of something in his eyes, a dilation of his pupils. He felt his own pulse speed up, hammering dully at the hollow of his throat, throbbing in his veins, making sure he felt it. Making sure he was anchored in this moment, that he’d remember it no matter what happened next.

Aziraphale inclined his head. Not a nod, not assent, but an acknowledgement. 

He knew. Crowley had known that he knew. He’d known since the holy water, perhaps even longer. It was the Kraken in the room, the heart of the matter, and Crowley had had just about enough of it.

He took a breath. “I want to kiss you,” he said firmly. “Here. Now. The world’s ending, and I wanna go out knowing what you taste like. Can I do it?”

The planet seemed to tremble on a needle. He should have done this years ago. It had taken far too much to get him here.

Aziraphale leaned in. “Yes,” he said, and touched Crowley’s face with his fingertips. Crowley closed his eyes as he guided him – not pulled, just guided – gently closer and touched their mouths together, letting Crowley taste the wine on his lips, giving him a soft touch of the mouth, then a gentle peck that was entirely too light.

Crowley sat back, lips tingling. So. That was what a pity kiss felt like.

Aziraphale’s gaze was pained. “Crowley,” he croaked. “You know that I-”

“Save it, angel.” Crowley held up a hand. “You’ve given me enough for one night.”

Aziraphale smiled gratefully, then pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m going to sober up,” he said.

“Yeah,” Crowley agreed. “Me too.”

* * *

Crowley had a fairly neutral attitude toward tea. It wasn’t his beverage of choice, but he had no problem drinking it if someone put it in front of him. He supposed that was a result of having lived in Britain for so long, or perhaps it was simply the fact that he was generally far more polite than a demon was supposed to be.

In any case, tea was fine. It fell somewhere between football and dictionaries on Crowley’s list of things he liked – nothing he was especially bothered about either way.

The current situation, however, was making him rethink that. He was feeling distinctly annoyed at the mug of bland, steaming stuff sitting before him now. Its first sin – hm, poor choice of words. Very well; its first _transgression_ – was that it wasn’t alcohol in a moment when Crowley really, _really_ wanted some alcohol. Hardly the tea’s fault, but irritating nonetheless. The second problem was that it was in a very breakable-looking ceramic mug in a moment when Crowley really, _really_ wanted to break something. His frustration at having to pretend with Aziraphale that the previous evening hadn’t happened was setting his teeth on edge.

 _The kiss._ In all honesty it barely deserved to be called so; it had been far too quiet, too _sensitive._ Aziraphale had done it for Crowley, not for himself. A kindness, not a thing of passion. And Crowley had let him. He’d taken it; accepted it as though it were even close to enough. That was how far gone he was; how desperate for any crumb of the angel’s affection. And he hated himself for it. He was furious that he’d allowed the first kiss he’d wanted for centuries to be… _that._

As these thoughts swirled darkly through his mind, Aziraphale looked at him innocently, as though wondering what about the tea could possibly be putting Crowley off. “Would you like some sugar, dear?” he asked.

Crowley’s hands clenched into fists atop his lap, and he directed his attention to the unlit candle in the centre of the table. “No, thanks, angel,” he said, as steadily as he could manage while struggling not to look at the angel’s lips. 

Aziraphale crossed his legs and unbuttoned his cuffs. Something electric went through Crowley as the angel revealed his wrists, the delicate blue veins under the skin. His stomach clenched uncomfortably.

“So, what exactly is our plan here?” Aziraphale asked, taking a sip of his tea. He seemed a bit less comfortable than normal; he was perched on the edge of his chair, rather than leaning back as he usually did.

Crowley shrugged. “The boy’s father is the US ambassador. These people have got money. More than enough to hire help to raise their child. We’re going to get ourselves jobs.”

Aziraphale sighed and reached up with the hand that wasn’t stirring his drink to unbutton the top button of his shirt. “But what _jobs_ are we going to do?” he asked. 

Crowley didn’t say anything; he was too busy staring at the extra bit of throat Aziraphale had just put on display. What was going on here? It wasn’t warm in the bookshop, and even if it had been, Aziraphale _never_ unbuttoned his shirts.

_What the fuck?_

Crowley shoved his hands into the pockets of his tight black jeans, curling his fingers inside them. He’d begun to feel something _down there_ : a certain tingly interest, a stirring of the blood, a harbinger of arousal. He tried not to focus on it. “Well,” he said, his voice stiff as he focused on clearly enunciating each syllable, “I’m going to be the nanny, of course.”

A smile appeared on Aziraphale’s face. “Why _of course?_ ” He rolled his sleeves up another few inches, looking into Crowley’s eyes, and it was in that moment that Crowley realised what was happening.

The angel was _teasing_ him. Aziraphale _liked_ being desired; he _liked_ knowing what he did to Crowley. That was why he was showing his arms and the base of his throat; why he was currently spreading his freshly-manicured hands out on the table. Crowley knew it; he could _see_ it. And he was not a fan.

He wouldn’t say anything, he decided. He’d clamp down on his feelings and keep his mouth shut.

He kept that thought in his head for a full three seconds before Aziraphale touched his hand.

Crowley nearly jumped out of his chair. He hadn’t been expecting the touch; hadn’t been ready for it. He stared at Aziraphale’s hand as the angel pulled it back. “Suddenly seemed like you were a million miles away, dear,” Aziraphale said.

“Fancy that,” Crowley muttered sardonically. He wrapped his hands around his mug.

Aziraphale unbuttoned another button. There was not a bloody thing Crowley could do to stop himself staring. He felt his mouth fall open, but was powerless to close it.

Crowley forced himself to look up again, to make eye contact, and he saw immediately that the bastard knew full well what he was doing. Aziraphale’s gaze was far too steady. After a second or two, the corners of his mouth lifted in a smile.

It was enough.

Crowley planted his elbows forcefully on the table, rattling the cups in their saucers. "You're being cruel, Aziraphale," he said.

Aziraphale frowned. "I don't mean to be cruel."

"Well, it _is_ cruel, what you're doing. Showing me what I can't have as if I don't already know."

Chastened, Aziraphale looked down at his lap. "You're right," he said softly."I'm being selfish." He raised his eyes again, locking them with Crowley's. "I have a request."

Crowley laughed, but the sound was bitter and unnatural. "Surely by now you've realised that you don't need to run temptations on me in order to get what you want."

"But the temptation is _part_ of what I want." Aziraphale stared over Crowley's shoulder, and Crowley realised that he was blushing. "I have a...well, let's call it a proposition."

Hope leapt up in Crowley's chest. He tried to crush it. "What is it?" he asked. 

Aziraphale's eyes went dark. "I want to watch you pleasure yourself to me," he said. 

For a full thirty seconds, the only part of Crowley that moved was his cock, which hardened despite himself.

Crowley narrowed his eyes. “What are you playing at?” he hissed angrily. “I know I’m a demon, angel, but I’ve got feelings too. I _told_ you about them. What is it you want, _exactly?_ Do you get off on my pain? Do you just like seeing me _crave_ you? Hm? Is that it?”

Aziraphale was flushing deeply. “Not your pain,” he said quietly. “Your _desire._ I…oh, Lord, it sounds completely absurd.”

Crowley curled his upper lip back, showing his teeth, an instinctive reaction for a demon who felt cornered. “Tell me. Whatever it is, tell me.” His tone was clipped, demanding, even as his penis – bloody traitor that it was – strained against his fly.

Because, Satan help him, whether or not he felt angry or annoyed with the angel, his desire to give Aziraphale what he wanted was so deeply ingrained that it was almost like an instinct at this point.

Aziraphale played idly with the hem of his waistcoat. “Last night,” he said softly, “you didn’t let me finish saying that I want you too. You know that, Crowley; you must do.”

“But you have made it abundantly clear,” Crowley snarled, “that we can’t act on it.” He hadn’t forgotten being told that he went too fast, or the way the angel was always careful to avoid standing too close to him when they were out in public, or how resistant Aziraphale _still_ was to talk about the Arrangement sometimes. All of it pointed in one very obvious direction, one that was evidently more important to Aziraphale than any loving looks he might have given Crowley, or longing eye contact they might have exchanged. The need to conceal their relationship from their superiors loomed larger in Aziraphale’s mind than dinners at the Ritz, or a bag of rescued books, or Crowley miracling a play into success just to make Aziraphale happy.

Aziraphale looked frustrated. “We _can’t_ act on it,” he said. “We can’t be together, at least not now.”

“Then _when?_ When, goddamn it, angel?”

Aziraphale flinched at the curse. “Maybe never,” he said. “But there _are_ things we could do, perhaps. As long as they were seen to be…well. One-sided.”

Crowley clicked his tongue in disbelief. “Right,” he said slowly. “Like me wanking over you. And you watching.”

“Well, yes.” Aziraphale’s flush darkened. “To see you come undone…well, it would be beautiful.”

“You want beautiful?” Crowley reached down to unbutton his trousers. “Fine. I’ll give you a show you’ll never forget. You’d better not forget it, anyway. I want you to see it every time you close your eyes.”

“Oh, Crowley.” Aziraphale’s voice cracked.

Crowley unzipped and pulled his cock out. One stroke, two, and it was fully hard. “Go on then, angel,” he said, his voice already shaking. “Where do you want me? Might as well make it exactly what you want.”

“On the sofa,” Aziraphale said, quiet now. Crowley hastened to obey, his cock jutting out in front of him. He collapsed on the sofa and pushed his trousers and pants down to his knees, then wrapped his hand around his erection again. Even for a lovesick demon like him, this felt like a new low, but he couldn’t help himself. He had always been ready to take whatever Aziraphale gave him, and this time was no exception.

He was also achingly aroused, and bless it, he wanted to come.

Crowley slid his hand up his shaft, biting his lip, looking Aziraphale in the eyes. Aziraphale was bent over slightly at the waist, a combination of pain, desire, and sheer carnal _lust_ on his face. It made Crowley impossibly harder, and he sped up his hand.

“Slow down,” Aziraphale commanded, voice ringing with authority. “Make this last. Pretend this is the last time you’ll ever get off before the End. Show me what you like, Anthony Crowley.”

Crowley’s hips twitched as he bucked into his own fist. Fuck, where had _that_ come from? Did Aziraphale have some sort of dominance kink, and he’d never noticed?

He wanted to hear more. He slowed down.

“That’s it,” Aziraphale said. He looked enraptured, fascinated, his eyes rooted to Crowley’s cock. Crowley bit down harder on his lip, trying not to groan.

“You’re gorgeous, Crowley,” Aziraphale almost whispered, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, as though he wanted to reach out and _grab._ “I’ve always found you terribly attractive; always wondered whether your cock matched the rest of you, and God help me, it _does._ Oh, Lord, I don’t know how I can keep resisting you…”

“Don’t,” Crowley choked, spreading his legs to give Aziraphale a better view, still moving his hand at a painfully slow pace. “Can I speed up now, please?” He was never going to come like this.

“No,” Aziraphale said, low and fierce. “Let go.”

Before Crowley could even try to understand the reasons behind the order, he'd already released his cock.

“Sit on your hands,” Aziraphale said. Crowley did.

Slowly, Aziraphale came to stand in front of the sofa. He stared down at Crowley, impassive but still red in the face, his jaw tight. He licked his lips. “Your _skin,_ Crowley,” he nearly growled. “So lovely. Your hair, your eyes…do you know how long I’ve been admiring you and wishing I could have you?”

“You _can,”_ Crowley groaned desperately. “Anything, angel; I’d give you anything. Anything you wanted, and fuck the consequences. I’ll spend eternity in a pit; I’ll give up my car, I’ll never listen to Queen again! It’d be worth it, just-”

“Shh,” Aziraphale silenced him. “Tell me how you feel. I can see that you’re hard, but _tell_ me about it. Let me hear that voice of yours. You’ve got a terribly sexy voice, Crowley; that growl you do? Makes me shiver.”

Crowley growled obligingly. “I am _throbbing_ here, Aziraphale. I’m desperate to touch myself. My hands are twitching under me because of how badly I want to touch my cock. You standing there, with your skin on display, telling me what to do…Satan, I think I might actually be dreaming. I want to come. Please, can I touch myself?”

Aziraphale’s answering smile was feral. “Go on, then.”

Crowley’s hand was on his dick so fast he thought he might have accidentally miracled it there. Aziraphale’s words had made him start leaking, and he spread his pre-ejaculate around the sensitive head of his cock.

“That’s right,” Aziraphale said, almost inaudibly. “Faster, go on, take your pleasure. Look at me. What do you see?”

Crowley threw his head back as he continued masturbating. “Your neck…’s like a swan’s or something, all gorgeous and pale…the way you swallow, looking at me. Your lips remind me of – _mmm_ – of when you kissed me. Wanted to bite you; lick your mouth. Wanted to feel that mouth on my cock, sucking me off… _ohh,_ I want your mouth everywhere…”

“Faster,” Aziraphale encouraged, watching Crowley’s hand. “Let me see you come, my dear. Let me watch.”

Crowley’s wrist was cramping up, but he didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. He was close. Had to come. Needed relief. He pushed his hips up again, moved his hand still faster, squeezed tighter, and came with a loud moan, drops of ejaculate landing on his thighs and his shirt. His hand was stiff by the time he was done, and it trembled slightly as he squeezed the remaining ejaculate out of his cock.

Aziraphale had sat down on the arm of the sofa and was wiping sweat off his forehead with a handkerchief. He handed a second handkerchief to Crowley, which the demon used to clean himself off. Neither of them spoke.

After a moment, Aziraphale stood up and came to stand next to Crowley. He sank to his knees, leaned in, and brushed his lips over the demon’s.

In a surge of fierce desire, Crowley reached out, grabbed Aziraphale’s head, and pulled him into a proper kiss, smashing their lips together, rough and filthy. Aziraphale kissed back, inhaling sharply through his nose as Crowley tongued his mouth.

It lasted only a few seconds before Aziraphale pulled away, but bless it, Crowley would live on those few seconds. He’d nourish himself on them, comfort himself with them, wank over them until the world ended or his existence did.

He didn’t tell Aziraphale he loved him. He didn’t beg him to love him back. But at least he’d got better than a pity kiss, this time.

“We’ll save the Earth,” Aziraphale said softly. “We’ll go by your plan.”

“Yeah,” Crowley murmured, his chest tight. “And then?”

Aziraphale glanced at Crowley’s lips again, and Crowley saw him swallow. “And then,” he said, “hopefully, it will be a different world.”

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is encouraged!


End file.
